Shattered Dynasty

Right then and there, a protective instinct snaps through me.

Payton.

Despite my hatred and animosity toward her, I don’t want to see Payton die.

I quietly stand from the chair, throw down a hundred, and then lift my finger to my mouth, telling her to be quiet, and pull her up from the seat.

Where we’re sitting, I have a view of the door; however, he can’t see us, so I quickly steer her out the back way.

“Why are we—”

“Shh,” I cut her off

She listens to my advice and is quiet as we get back into the car.

“What was that all about?” she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

“Nothing that you need details of right now.”

With her eyes locked on me, she watches me. “You rushed me out of there, but I didn’t finish eating.”

She pouts, and I sigh.

“Fine. I’ll get you some dessert.”

Pulling the car onto the street, I weave my way through traffic until we are back on West Broadway, heading to my place.

“Then why are we headed home?” she points out.

“Because, believe it or not, Chef makes homemade ice cream for himself.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch her mouth falling open. “How did I not know that?”

She sounds more appalled than when I ordered her to give presentations to my staff, and I shouldn’t be amused, but I am.

I shrug, changing lanes. “Because it’s a secret.”

“And you know this then?”

“It’s my house.”

“But it’s his ice cream.”

“Well, technically, it’s mine. Duh. My house.”

There’s that cute grin on her face again, and damn if my cock did not get the memo.

I make a few rounds through the area, checking for tails. It’s not a secret where I live, but I’d at least like to know if I have someone following me. If Payton notices that we’re driving in circles, she doesn’t comment.

Finally, I pull up to my building, park the car in my spot, and lead her upstairs. My hand touches the small of her back. I feel the warmth radiate through it.

This need to protect her tonight was overwhelming. I have to keep her safe. It’s one thing for my father’s will to chain us together and another for my sins to do so. My world shouldn’t touch her life, no matter what my father caused me to do.

We’re very quiet as we tiptoe into the kitchen, and I take her to a secret freezer hidden behind a cabinet door in the butler’s pantry.

I browse through our flavor options. “Chef has a personal stash here.”

I grab one of his pre-scooped jars, filled with homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream, and collect two spoons from a drawer.

“Taste it,” I demand.

She takes the spoon out of my hand, dips it into the ice cream, and swallows.

An honest-to-God, full-on moan escapes her mouth this time.

Dammit all to hell.

That moan.

That will haunt me for the rest of the night.

Then she fucking licks her lips. I watch the movement. Track it with hungry eyes.

Great. Just fucking great.

I find myself taking a step closer, a moth to a flame.

She has ice cream on her lip, and I need to taste it.

I know I shouldn’t.

I can’t help it.

Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches forward.

I close the distance.

My body is almost touching hers.

I lean closer, my hand touching her lips.

She stops breathing for a second.

Then I wipe the ice cream.

She exhales, her chest heaving, and she moves a step closer.

I want to kiss her.

My lips hover over hers.

We are so close I can feel her exhale.

“Why are you making a mess in my kitchen?” Chef shouts.

And just like that, the moment is ruined.

I remember who I’m standing with.

I remember why I shouldn’t do this.

I remember both our sins.

And I internally scold myself for thinking with my dick when it comes to her once again.

This won’t end well, I remind myself.

No shit.

31

Payton

* * *

I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands.

What the hell was that?

Did we almost kiss?

Why is it that I hear the venom from his lips but still want to feel them on mine?

He hates me. He hates how his father cared about me but not his own daughter. He hates how his father sold his sister when he had the money and instead spent it on me.

For fuck’s sake, this is not how I should feel.

But as I step out of my clothes to climb into bed, I wish the door would open. I wish he would come in, grab me, and kiss me. Hard and unapologetic. A wall kiss, like you read in romance books and see in movies.

Again. Why?

Why do I have this feeling that he could be more than my tormentor?

Payton, you need sleep.

After the week I have had, the last thing I want to do is perform for Trent Aldridge.

Not only am I in a crap mood because I’m not doing too hot in my classes, but I’m also so fucking tired.